


Popcorn

by Sam_Land



Series: Final Countdown [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Boys Kissing, Eating Popcorn, Fluff, Home alone for the weekend, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Tags Are Hard, Teenage Dorks, idk what banter is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Land/pseuds/Sam_Land
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean just wanted some popcorn, but he got something much better instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Popcorn

“Hey hand me the popcorn,” I say, reaching with my left hand across my body to the boy sitting on my right, my eyes glued to the television.

“Can't chu get it churself?” He replies with his mouth full of the salty snack, causing me to reach even farther across his lap as he inches the bowl away from me. After a few moments I realize my attempt is futile, so instead I watch Marco, his Adam's apple moving as he swallows, and his body shifting right as he continues pushing the food along my living room couch.

I look up at his smirking face, and admire that jaw line, those soft-looking lips, his adorable rounded nose, those freckles splashed across mainly his nose, and the wide brown eyes, currently twinkling with mischief, that always see the best in me, even if there's not much best in me. 

I catch myself staring, squinting really because the only light is the dim glow coming from the TV, and thank goodness for the almost complete darkness because I feel my face turning into a bright tomato.

Sitting up once more, I punch Marco playfully in the shoulder and say, “Well I'm at a disadvantage here!” With as much annoyance as I could possibly muster at the cute boy. For some reason I could never stay angry at him for long, even when he's making my life hell, or at least a lot more complicated than it should be.

“Hmm, valid point,” he says as he turns his body to look at my right arm in disapproval. The teenager then picks it up and taps the cast lightly and moves closer, his stomach pressed into my side and back. He mutters into my ear, low voice making me shudder slightly, “You are the only man I've ever known to fracture his arm while playing the only sport in which you can't use it.”

He refers to my soccer accident, in which I landed on my wrist, breaking it in the process. It was quite embarrassing, but so was most of my life.

I freeze as I realize just how close he is, holding my arm, breathing hot puffs of air down my neck, and if I would just turn slightly to the right I would be nose to nose with the boy I had fallen in love with...

Again.

To sum up, when the boy had moved into the house across the street from mine, it only took a year for us to become best friends, and for me to fall hard for the cutie. For three years I was a lovesick puppy until the Marco was forced to move away because of his father's job. However after two years of traveling around the globe, he finally came back last winter to live with his mother, who had stayed in the neighborhood.

My whole body clenches up with worry, muscles aching, but I don't trust myself in new situations (because I kind of ruin everything) and keep still. As it dawns me that neither of us are doing anything to move from the rather intimate position we are in, I laugh nervously and reply, “Well, I guess I have quite the unique talent for clumsiness.” Why did my voice have to jump an octave higher? _I sound pathetic_ , I think to myself. _Don't you always?_ Replies the annoying part of my mind that I don't control. I reason this is why I have a low self-esteem.

Suddenly, warm fingers are gently taking my chin, and I relax at the touch. He turns my head and we're staring at each other, brown eyes versus amber eyes, and I think I forget how to breathe.

“You are just unique all over,” is his quiet response, and I can barely see Marco's face anymore as the forgotten movie in the background starts rolling credits on an almost black screen.

Maybe it's my imagination, but his eyes shy away from our prolonged stare for a second to glance at my lips. Well, I'm not one to judge, since I'm suddenly staring at his, wondering what it would be like to press our mouths together, what he'd sound like, what he'd taste like.

 _Probably popcorn_ , answers that only functioning part of my brain left. I wish it would shut up and let me enjoy the moment.

I don't know what to say so the silence stretches, and with every second the blood rushing in my head gets louder and louder, and the world slows down more and more until everything is standing still, and I'm leaning in because _fuck it_ , better now than never.

Suddenly, strong arms are pushing me away at the shoulders. Dread starts filling me as I realize he saw my intentions. Why else would he push me away? He's standing up now, and stretching, his shirt lifting up and my body fills with longing, wanting to pull him back and keep him close. I shut my eyes tight in hope of scaring away the thought. I need to stop this. Stop my fantasies. Stop thinking that my feelings for my best friend are okay and he will return them. Would one kiss be worth ruining our friendship anyway? _Yes._ No.

“Now that was a waste of two hours and forty-three minutes of our time, right? I thought for sure the ending would be wayyy better.” Marco turns the TV off and switches a lamp on and looks at me with a bright grin. Maybe he actually didn't notice anything? _Best to act that way_ , I think and return the smile with my own as I say, “Well I kinda missed the last half hour because of a certain idiot...”

“You are too cocky for your own good, you know that?”

“I learn from the best.”

“I know you do.”

And with that Marco pulls me up and I'm leaning into his firm body and his mouth is on mine and he does taste like popcorn, and I'm jelly in his arms as he kisses me hard and slow, eventually coaxing his tongue into my mouth and I don't want to breathe because it means separating from _him_ and those _lips_ that I have daydreamed about so many times I've lost count but my lungs are on fire and so are his.

Pant, “When did you-,” pant, “-plan to-,” pant, “-get in my pants?”

We're kissing again and my arms roam his body, only to end up tangling in his soft, black hair while he pulls me closer by my waist, arms wrapping around me. I love the way he has to somewhat bend down to continue our make-out session, and how I'm getting pulled up to my tippy toes by his strong grip.

We catch our breath and he laughs airily, saying, “Your pants? You're the one who leaned all over my lap.”

I pout childishly and complain, “I just wanted some popcorn.”

“I think you got something way better instead...”

His teeth catch my bottom lip and he sucks on it, and I moan slightly, embarrassed but enjoying myself and satisfied with how well the evening turned out. His confidence grows and he deepens the kiss until our lungs betray us once more and our mouths separate.

“Yeah, I guess I can work with this.” I reply coyly, and the boy snorts at my comment, but holds my face lovingly as he kisses me again.

I feel his smile against my lips and we fall back onto the couch, legs getting tangled, hair becoming messy, hands grabbing at anything they can find.

My head on Marco's chest and his arms embracing me, we fall asleep after a few hours, with him listening to our synchronized breathing as I listened to the sweet music of his heart.


End file.
